


The Real Names of the Stars

by casbean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex, dubcon, prepare for all the endverse feels, starts as a bit of dubcon but then turns out its very con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 13:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3211220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casbean/pseuds/casbean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are so many stars in the universe, Dean. Did you know they all have names? Just like every human has a name, God gave a name to every single star in the sky. So, so many of them. And humans have tried to name them too, but only angels have heard the real names, the secret names. Do you want to know the real names of the stars, Dean?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Real Names of the Stars

 It starts just a few months after Sam says yes. All the angels have fallen, Cas amongst them, and so have most of the cities and governments. Croats, demons, and hellhounds are roaming the streets day and night, killing, eating and torturing any human in sight. Dean and Cas were able to join several survivors just outside of New York and now they're mostly just trying to survive, do some damage control and save as many people as possible. It’s not much, but it’s something.

 Dean can already see the effect this new lifestyle is having on Cas. Some of the people they united with had drugs, and despite Dean’s protests Cas started taking them, easing the pain of his fall and the loss of his grace. But now he’s stoned almost 24/7, on shit that they grow or steal whenever they can. Dean knows he should’ve been there, should’ve stopped Cas right from the start. But the loss of Sammy and the betrayal, the Devil walking around in his little brother’s body, the Apocalypse weighing down on his shoulders, it was all too much. Dean withdrew inside of himself, and instead of dying like he maybe should have he threw himself in the fights, in the incessant war going on all around the world. He wasn’t present, he wasn’t there to help Cas when Cas fell and as with everything else, it’s all his fault.

 Cas spends most of his time at camp now, organizing things, taking care of people, while Dean’s out there fighting, looking for food, ammunition, supplies, or survivors. Dean was well decided from the start to focus on one mission only - finding Lucifer and killing him. But the search is going slow, too slow, and Dean lets himself be softened by those people, the ones still out there in the ruins of the city. He lets himself get lost in the everyday task if surviving to avoid thinking about the fact that he doesn’t even know where to start. He doesn’t know where Lucifer is or how to find him, and rather than think Dean just works, and fights, and cuts. And it’s not like Cas can snap his fingers and zap them anywhere anymore, not like Dean can count on a super strong angel by his sides to make miracles happen.

 But the truth is that despite how much he changed, despite the drugs and the painful humanity, Cas is still the same in the end - always there when Dean needs him. He’s always willing, always ready, gun in his hand and front of the line, ready to fight and die by Dean’s side. But these days Dean avoids asking for his help, and tends to avoid the fallen angel altogether. He pushes Cas away because it hurts too much. It hurts to see him like this, careless and zoned out, completely stripped of all his innocence, of all his grace, of his childish wonder at the world that made him so special. Basically of all that made him Cas, Dean’s one guardian angel. And it’s all Dean’s fault. Everything is his fault, and they’re all paying the price.

 There’s a light in Dean’s room when he comes home that night, exhausted and worn out, skin raw but numb from weeks of wounds, cuts and bruises washed away with alcohol inside and out. Most people in the camp sleep together in a communal hut and Cas is usually with them. Dean decided to have his own tent because night time is the only moment he gets to really strategize, think about his next move, and reflect on his progress, though he usually just paces around all night, taking long sips of whisky directly from the bottle. He still told Cas he could bring in his mattress if he needed privacy from time to time - it seemed like the least he could do.

 But Cas usually prefers to sleep with the others, although they don’t seem to sleep that much from what Dean can hear and sometimes see through the drape doors. He never asked Cas when it began, how it happened, and in all honesty he barely cares. Part of Dean, a very small part, still has emotions sometimes, but he doesn’t really feel them, analyze them, let them sink in. They go away fast enough. All he knows is that he tries to stay away from Cas’ business, and he doesn’t like to think about it - he doesn’t have time anyway. He ruined Cas and he feels guilt, but the rest… there’s nothing he can do.

 Dean is surprised to find Cas in his room that night, to find him in his bed and wearing what appears to be... absolutely nothing. When Dean walks in the stretched out form of Cas turns around in the messy sheets and smiles at him, scruffy grin and lazy, bloodshot eyes. Dean sighs and makes his way around the mattress to the back room. His pants ripped today when a hellhound caught him from behind, and on top of losing his last pair of trousers Dean lost several people. Good people.

 Dean can’t think about the lives they lost right now though, he can’t think about the people that died because of him. Because every day brings more death, more than he can even imagine, more than he can deal with, more than he’ll ever know. And unlike Cas he can’t afford to drug himself to unconsciousness. Dean only has one goal now, kill the devil and die with him. It’s all he can do, and he has to do it.

 “What are you doing here?” Dean asks as he takes off his thigh holster and ammunition belt. “Better not’ve had one of your orgies in my bed. Unlike you, I sleep there.”

 Cas huffs. “Susan and Elijah asked to join, but... I said no. I missed you.”

 Dean doesn’t answer and instead focuses on assessing the damage to his pants. Cas has started saying things, acting a certain way around him lately, acting _promiscuous_. Dean’s heart tightens when he thinks about what Sammy would say if he heard him think that - his brainy little brother would’ve probably laughed at him.

 Dean mostly just ignores Cas when he acts this way, when he looks at him all longing and softened, when his hand lingers on his arm or when he offers him massages and invites him to their “nights” in the common room. It hurts to see Cas so gone, so fucking stoned out of his mind on whatever drug they’ve been able to get this month that he’s… Dean doesn’t know what he’s doing exactly, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have time for this, to wonder if Cas even remembers who he is when he’s like that, or if he means it or what it could be - there’s no going there, and Dean doesn’t even think or care to think about it.

 The hunter quickly unbuttons his belt, sighing at the long night of sewing awaiting him - although he could ask one of the girls to do it. Or Chuck, who’s proven himself to be very talented at saving hopeless clothing. Yeah, he should probably do that, because he needs to review the provisions they have left before tomorrow’s reconnaissance down at the old car dealership.

 Having more cars could definitely help and Dean’s thinking that some of their people should leave the city and go to the country, find a safe place near an abandoned village.  Somewhere with some food left, somewhere they could hunt - hunt for real, hunt animals for food and even fur. The way things are going Dean’s pretty sure they’re gonna be back to hunting with spikes and dressing up in animal skins very soon. The toilet paper is already starting to run out, and Chuck’s totally freaking out about it.

 Once people are safer Dean could maybe take a car and hit the road, really start searching for Sam - for Lucifer. Who knows, maybe people will want to come, although he’s not sure if he’ll allow it. They’d be going to their death and although their death could really help him… Dean’s not there yet. A few more months of this and he will be though, a few more months and Dean knows all the humanity he has left will be washed away for good. Better leave before that happens.

 “Come here,” Cas mumbles as Dean walks past him again, his shredded pants hanging on his arm, looking for something to wear while he walks over to Chuck’s hut.

 “Can I borrow your pants?” Dean grunts, pretending he didn’t hear. “Not like you’re wearing them anyway.”

 He avoids looking at Cas’ naked legs and leans over to search in the pile of clothes at the foot of the mattress.

 “Come _here_.”

 Dean doesn’t realize Cas has moved before hands grab on to his legs and pull, yanking him off balance and forcing him to stumble on the bed.

 “Stop that!” Dean growls, pushing Cas’ arms away and getting back on his feet.

 Cas is obviously very, very stoned and Dean doesn’t have time to deal with it. He has things to do, he _always_ has things to do, more things than he can ever achieve but he must try, so he certainly can't deal with a drugged fallen angel naked in his bed. The last time something similar happened Dean lost precious hours of sleep because Cas couldn’t stop talking about the stars that were showing through the cracks in the ceiling, and he’s certainly not going through another round of _do you know the real names of the stars, Dean_?

 But humanity and drugs didn’t weaken Cas’ strength as much as Dean would’ve thought, and the strong hands grasp to his calf and then to his shirt, forcing him down on the bed and pushing him flat on his back. For a moment Dean is too surprised to react, and his exhausted body gives{}[ up as he dives into the mattress. Not that it hurts - nothing hurts anymore - but sometimes he just gets weak, barely able to walk or think.

 Dean forces himself to open his eyes and is about to roll on his stomach and crawl off the bed, thinking that he shouldn’t be mad at Cas since it’s his own fault the angel’s acting this way, but before he can even move something very warm and heavy presses down on his waist. Dean looks up to find Cas straddling his hips, butt naked and panting, satisfied smile on his lips and a playful spark in his invariably blue eyes.

 “The _fuck_?” Dean chokes, definitely mad now, trying to push Cas off and ignore the whole touching-an-ex-angel-dude-while-he’s-naked thing. Castiel’s skin is sweaty and burning. “Get off, Cas!”

 But Cas grabs on to Dean’s wrists with a surprising strength and pins them down. And then he starts rolling his hips on top of him, rubbing on his crotch, creating a friction that makes Dean whimper.

 He hasn’t thought about this for a long time, hasn’t thought about _sex_ with anyone in so long despite the attractiveness of some of their companions and the several, several orgies he’s walked into. All of his energy has been focused on one thing, all of his thoughts, all of his being, and the few boners he’s gotten haven’t even turned into successful masturbation. But it’s not like he cares, or really tried. Dean can’t get any pleasure right now, it doesn’t feel right, not when all this suffering, all this bullshit is his fault. Pleasure is the very last thing on Dean’s mind, or at least it was until his stoned, fucked up best friend decided to have naked playtime. Castiel’s familiar smell surrounding him brings back many memories - memories of an old time, a better time, a sacred time.

 Still holding his wrists with one hand, Cas ventures the other under Dean’s shirt and suddenly heat rushes back into the hunter’s body, a heat he had completely forgotten about. An image pops up in his mind, clear as day, an image he’d forgotten about almost as quick as he had walked out of there because he had things to do and no time to think about _that_ , but now... he remembers.

 People, people he knew, or should know for they shared a camp and a life, those people naked and pressed against each other, sweaty and moving, moaning and grunting and _doing it_. And then Cas, Cas in the middle of them all, sitting on this guy, fucking himself on his cock like having that thing up his ass was the best thing that ever happened to him. Dean can see it all now, the wide, familiar and yet unusual smile stretching the full lips, the guttural hauls, Cas’ muscled body working as he grinded and rolled his hips on top of that guy like the sluttiest twink in history. And Cas’ own dick bobbing and flapping against his stomach, long stripes of precum flying around him almost gracefully. Dean had walked out immediately, screaming from behind that the patrol was leaving in thirty minutes.

 He hadn’t thought about it at all that day, it was forgotten almost as soon as the drapes closed behind him. But that night was the first in a long time that Dean actually felt the urge to masturbate. He didn’t though, because he was on guard and croatoans attacked at least three times during his shift. But he thought about it, he felt it in his usually numb body. He felt something.

 And now Cas is in his bed, on his lap, naked knees sneaking under Dean’s shirt, and he’s staring at him with an expression Dean’s never seen before.

 “Cas, get off,” he says faintly, breath accelerating.

 But instead Cas leans over further and presses his mouth on Dean’s lips, his soft, smooth mouth that tastes like weed and something else, something sweet, pressed against Dean’s dry and chapped lips. The angel’s scruff tickles his jaw and sends something like shivers down to his toes, shocking Dean to his core.

 “Stop!” he roars and this time he sits back up, breaking the grip of Cas’ arms and pushing back strongly on the angel’s chest.

 He doesn’t have _time_ for this, he doesn’t have space for this, he doesn’t _get_ to do any of this, not with a random girl and certainly not with Cas. Because despite the drugs and the orgies and God knows what else Cas is still _Cas_ , his Cas, fallen angel and pure graceful soul and best friend and the last person - the last person Dean maybe still cares about sometimes. The last person that Dean lets influence him, the last person he listens to when he tells him his plans are crazy, the last person who he knows will follow him no matter what. Dean knows that despite all the fuck ups and mess ups Cas would still follow him blindly, die by his side and give up everything for him. And Dean can’t - he doesn’t deserve _this_ , not this part of Cas too. He can’t take that too. He took so much already.

 “You’re _high_ Cas,” the hunter says in a softer voice. “It’s me, Dean, remember?”

 He’s the one holding Cas by his wrists now, both sitting up with the angel still straddling Dean’s thighs. Cas’ eyes have this blur, this lazy, careless happiness that drugs bring and make his gaze upon Dean look almost tender, almost loving, and it’s hard to handle.

 “It’s me, Cas. _Dean_. D-e-a-n.”

 It’s obvious that Cas must not really know what’s going on, but then surprisingly his look loses its blur and the piercing eyes land back on Dean, dreamy smile fading from his lips.

 “I know,” Cas says slowly, and to Dean’s surprise he leans against his grip, pressing his scruff on his neck and grinding down his hips again. He smells of smoke and booze, but behind all of that Dean can still recall that familiar vanilla-honey-sweet smell of Cas.

 Castiel’s legs are tightly wrapped around Dean’s waist and his lips are sucking on his neck, and it’s _so_ much and it’s so hard to - Dean feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, and if he lets himself go he doesn’t know if he’ll ever land, if the pit even has a bottom, or if he’ll just fall forever into infinity. And that is so fucking scary but most of all he doesn’t have _time_ to fall anywhere, he doesn’t have time get physical with his best friend when he has so many things to do.

 He pushes Cas back again, but the damn idiot is glued to him like a leech, forcing his way through Dean’s carefully built wall of hardness and emptiness and ice and _blood_ he protects himself with. The wall that keeps the guilt and the pain just far enough so it doesn’t consume him, the wall that keeps him able to eat and walk and kill every damn day. But if he allows anyone, especially Cas, to show him this kind of - tenderness, forgiveness, _love_ \- the wall will crumble down and everything will fall apart.

 “I can’t, Cas,” Dean pleads one last time, but the angel ignores him completely and Dean has no choice.

 He grips a fist into the thick hair and pulls back hard, grabbing Cas’ arm with the other hand and using a strength he didn’t allow before - Cas may still be strong but he’s _stoned_ and he’ll always be soft and fragile in Dean’s eyes - but now he must, and he yanks Cas off so roughly that Cas is thrown against the wall. Dean hears the angel’s naked back hit it with a loud bang that makes the walls shake, and for a moment Dean is scared that he went too far and that Cas is physically hurt. But then the angel looks up and smiles, before throwing himself back at him.

 This time Cas’ fingers grab around Dean’s back and dig into his bruised skin, any delicacy or softness gone from his embrace. A warm breath covers Dean’s mouth, soon followed by teeth digging deep into his lower lip, the sharp pain sucked into Castiel’s mouth along with Dean’s groan. The surprise sting seems to disable Dean’s brain; suddenly he can’t protest because it’s not about merit and _earned_ reward like sex always was before, suddenly it’s Cas ripping out his shirt and scratching his skin, plunging his nails back into Dean’s shoulders as he pushes him down. Teeth click and tongues lick roughly, Cas slides a hand in Dean’s hair and pulls hard, and then his scruff is scratching down his neck again. Teeth dive into Dean’s flesh, sending long stripes of stinging pain along his nerves.

 And suddenly Dean can breathe,  _really_ breathe, suddenly his body and mind give up and he wraps his arms around Castiel’s back, pushing against the roll of his hips with such strength that their bones clash, dicks pinched between their bodies. Dean isn’t delicate with his nails either and he leaves long red trails on Cas’ back, making the angel whine, the roll of his hips getting quicker. And then Cas clenches his fingers around Dean’s jaw, dominating, powerful, focused, taking big bites into Dean’s over sensitive lips.

 They roll around, frantic, violent, like a freaking storm destroying everything on its way, and Dean’s remaining clothes are gone before he knows it. Suddenly the hunter’s whole body is aching, jerking, shaking like he hasn’t eaten or drank or slept in weeks. He grasps onto Castiel, grips onto every bit of him he can reach, pressing him against his skin because he’s so _cold_ and Cas is so _hot_ , all limbs and skin and hair and _God_ the blessed pains, the blessed stinging of his teeth and nails, his weight and pinches and his breath and God it feels so good and yet it’s almost unbearable. Dean’s whole body hurts at every move, it hurts so much, everything, his muscles and his skin and his bones, and yet all that he’s able to mumble against Cas’ skin is “hurt me, Cas, hurt me, take me, fuck me _, hurt me Cas please hurt me_.”

 Cas fumbles around, crawls back to the edge of the bed and searches for something in his clothes while Dean breathes out, passing a hand on his face, heart beating a thousand miles a second. He doesn’t know what he’s about to do, he probably shouldn’t be doing it, but he needs some kind of release from _something_ and he needs to _feel_ it. All this time, all the wounds and all the almost-dying-guts-ripped-out and never getting a rest and barely sleeping and being cold and hungry and _all_ of it, Dean could barely feel it. Everyone seemed so miserable but he was like a machine, powering through, not even aware of the cold or the starving or the wounds, like all of his nerves had died. He just didn’t feel anything. Until tonight.

 When Cas comes back to Dean his expression has changed. He gently spreads Dean’s thighs open, sitting between them, his cock hard and leaking. Dean’s never seen it from this close, never noticed how freaking pink the tip is compared to the pale length, how beautiful the colors look when glistening with precum. It’s dark around them now and the rest of the camp seems asleep, everything silent except from the distant chatter of the guards. Dean’s breathing fast, his insides torn apart between his fear and that _excitement_ , that need for feelings that’s already feeding on his fear and pain like it’s the holy bread. He wants more, he needs more, more fear, more excitement, more pain and more pleasure, he needs to feel alive for a moment and he doesn’t know that much about gay sex but he knows it should make him feel something one way or another. Being pounded into oblivion suddenly seems like paradise.

 “Are you sure about this?” Cas asks as he coats his cock in lube, making it even more shiny in the dim light.

 Dean swallows. “Just do it.”

 He grabs Castiel by the neck and brings him down for another messy, sloppy kiss, inhaling the deep _Cas_ scent that now completely overpowered the smoke one. Now it’s all Cas and it smells so good, so familiar, and that mixed with the warmth of his body pressed on Dean’s side and the scruffy mouth sucking on his lips makes him feel taken away to another world. Fingers slide on Dean’s half hard cock, pumping it a few times but that’s not what he wants, it’s not about that right now. He grabs Cas’ hand and shoves it further down, and then the angel’s wet fingers press between his cheeks, making their way somewhere no one’s ever been before. The caress is not unpleasing and Dean groans, wanting more.

 There’s something way beyond pleasure that he needs and he lets out a satisfied sigh when Cas slides a finger inside of him, pushing against the tight muscles, and Dean’s body protests but he doesn’t care. A bite to his shoulders and Dean thrusts his hips up, pulling Cas in, and then asks for “ _more_ ”. It’s two fingers now, large and stretching, _inside_ of him and it feels _so_ good. Strange and invasive yes, but so… Dean’s body quivers, rutting, his teeth grasping on Castiel’s ear, and he rubs his face on Cas’ scruff just to feel it even more.

 Cas moans against Dean’s neck, mouthing on his skin, and suddenly the angel seems impatient. Dean can feels his need pushing against his thigh so he grabs Cas’ arm and brings it back up, positioning it on the side of his face. Cas gets the hint and he pushes himself on his knees, sliding between Dean’s open thighs. He’s breathing fast, pulpy lips half opened, and he looks damn good, almost unrecognizable except for his eyes. His dark, containing-all-the-wonders-of-the-world, as-blue-as-the-ocean-and-as-deep-as-the-sky eyes, and Dean feels his whole chest swelling up.

 Soon Cas is gripping him by the hair, his other hand pressing his erection against Dean’s ass. It’s big, Dean feels it push against his rim, feels his own body protest and close up. He fights against it and suddenly Cas thrusts his hips forward, and Dean’s mind splits up, pain shooting up until tears form on the corner of his eyes. _Holy shit_ it feels so wrong, so wrong and so good because Cas lets out a whimper and presses his hips down all the way and Dean’s throat swells up, and he’s not sure if he’s about to come or puke. He can feel his body grasp painfully around Cas, pulse around his cock and he doesn’t know if his tears are of pain or relief from all of those sensations that he can finally feel.

 “Do you want me to stop?”

 Cas leans over further, worried eyes following the tear sliding down the hunter’s cheek. He kisses Dean, too gently, and Dean wraps his thighs tighter around the angel’s waist and nudges him, barely containing a scowl at the stretching pain.

 “No, I want you to fuck me.” He grabs on Cas’ hair roughly and pulls him in for another kiss, biting harshly on his lip until Cas whimpers. “ _Fuck_ me, c’mon.”

 And then Dean pushes on the angel’s chest and Cas nods, leaning back and grabbing the hunter’s thighs to open them wider before driving his hips back into him.

 Dean jerks, throwing his head back and letting out a cry of pain. With each thrust of Cas’ hips the ache reaches deeper, curling up from the deepest part of him and spurring through his throat. Dean feels _wide_ open, raw, exposed, legs parted and vulnerable stomach moving up and down. It’s out of his control, he's out of his own control, and fuck it feels amazing to _feel_ all of that. Cas’ hands are gripped so tight on his skin they’ll leave bruises that maybe Dean can finally feel too. He can feel this, he can feel Cas’ flesh flapping against the back of his thighs, can hear his low grunts and his quick breaths and he can _feel_ Cas’ cock buried deep inside of him, reaching and stretching and forcing until Dean has to accept it, until Dean gives in and welcomes the pain and lets go completely, allows his body move back and forth like a chiffon doll as Cas pounds the hell out of him.

 After a while Cas lets go of Dean’s thighs and leans over, arms resting on each side of his head and Dean turns away, avoiding the mouth caressing his face. Instead he bites harshly into Cas’ biceps, teeth grasping and nipping as Cas starts fucking him again, pressing him tighter down on the mattress. And now each push and pull rubs a smooth, hot weight on Dean’s dick and he feels dizzy, too many sensations all at once.

 He barely realized he got hard, painfully hard, and now waves of heat are traveling up and down his body, from the roots of his hair to the tip of his toes, the burn of his ass mixing with something else. Something about feeling Cas’ dick sliding inside his hole, something about feeling his balls pushing against his ass, something about feeling Cas’ whole body pressed down on him, against him, about tasting the angel’s flesh in his mouth, something about the face buried in his neck and the soft plaints in his ears. Something about feeling Cas’ pleasure and his heat and his need, sharing this with him, it’s touching something inside of Dean and when he cums it doesn’t even feel like an orgasm. It feels like his whole body is expulsing a thousand things, a thousand pains and a thousand cries all at once. Dean feels tears streaming down his face as he gasps, bucks, presses up and down against Cas’ body, Dean’s arms gripped so tight around him and holding him so close the angel probably can’t breathe. He almost blacks out for a minute, thrown outside of his body by the overwhelming pleasure, and he needed it _so_ much.

 Cas keeps fucking him for a few more minutes after that, quick pace now easily pushing in and out of Dean, bringing the pain just at the edge of bearable. And then the angel comes with one last chew on Dean’s lips, and the hunter can taste blood on his tongue when Castiel drops beside him, sweaty and out of breath.

 As his breathing slows down Dean lets his legs lay back on the sheets, trying to ignore the violent tremble of his muscles. He feels like his body’s been to battle, and it doesn’t feel like he only had sex, however rough it was. It feels like all those injuries, every cut and every bruise he didn’t feel before, he can feel them now. And suddenly Dean’s limbs feels so heavy, so numb, and he just wants to close his eyes and sleep for a thousand years, a billion years. And when he’d wake up the world would have changed, humanity would’ve passed and he wouldn’t need to be… to be Dean Winchester anymore.

 Dean opens his eyes when he hears a rustle next to him and feels Cas’ weight moving around. He glances to his side and finds the angel leaning over the foot of the mattress, looking for something in his clothes. And then Cas lays back on the small pillow next to Dean, a pipe smelling very suspicious tucked between his teeth and a lighter in hand. He looks pretty damn sexy, and Dean never looked at him this way before but now he understands why all those people want to fuck him so badly. He’s beautiful, body soft and firm and tanned, sad scruffy face and sweaty hair making him look so… Dean can’t dwell on the feelings it inspires him.

 The thing in the pipe doesn’t seem to want to light up.

 “What’s that?” Dean asks, scowling at the stinking smell.

 Cas frowns, taking the pipe between his fingers and sniffing its content.

 “I have no idea,” he says with a sad chuckle that makes Dean feel like he’s being impaled.

 “Do you _have_ to do that right now?”

 Again with the sad smile. And then Cas turns a blunt, honest stare towards Dean, blue irises so full of resignation that Dean feels like he’s wrinkling under it.

 “Yes, Dean, I do. Because very soon you’re going to ask me to leave, and I’ll have to go back to the... orgy room, and I _do_ need to be stoned for that.”

 “If you hate it, then why d’you do it?” Dean’s voice is a lot weaker than he wished.

 “I don’t… hate it,” Cas replies, and he seems very honest. “It - it’s better than being alone, I think. But it’s not - after being with _you_ , it will certainly feel... wrong.”

 Dean doesn’t really know what to answer to that. The incredible sadness of the scene, of this life, of their situation suddenly hits him. Two pathetic, half dead men fucking on a dirty mattress in a patched up tent, in a world taken over by all that Hell contains and more, with nothing but death and destruction to look forward to. And Dean knows that this is the last time he can afford any kind of feeling, any kind of compassion, any kind of something that isn’t cold, strategized war.

 Tomorrow morning Dean needs to take off, to find the Devil, to kill his little brother, and he’s gonna need to sacrifice people, his people for it. He’s gonna need to lie and deceive and bait, he’s gonna need to stop being Dean Winchester and stop _caring_ , stop numbing himself, because numbing isn’t enough. Whatever he was scared of, whatever was left in him, it needs to end tomorrow. He has a plan, it’s so clear now, like being fucked just finally lit up his brain. He knows every step he has to take, every move he has to make in order to end this. It’s gonna be a long road, it’s gonna be deadly and painful and it’s gonna be nearly impossible but Dean _knows_. Starting tomorrow. Because he needs to save his little brother. And he needs to kill him.

 “Stay here,” he hears himself say, and he reaches out and places a hand over Cas’, stopping him from inhaling the stinking smoke. “Just for tonight. You can stay.”

 Cas looks at him for a moment and then he nods and puts the pipe back on the clothes, before rolling closer to him. He takes Dean’s arms and stretches it out, laying himself over it, nudging it in the crook of Dean’s neck and snuggling on his side. Dean scowls a little when the weight presses down on his chest, but he doesn’t dislike the warmth and the smell of Cas, how he feels on his skin. Last time, he thinks. Only time.

 “I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean murmurs in the ruffled hair, unable to stop himself, because he needs to say it - at least once. He needs Cas to know how fucking sorry he is for messing everything up.

 “It’s not your fault,” the angel replies in a quiet voice, running his fingers over the scars on Dean’s chest, and then brushing lightly over the mark on his shoulder. Their mark.

 “It’s all my fault,” Dean chokes, all the emotions he repressed for the past twelve months suddenly rushing back, rolling up his chest and blocking up his throat. “I should’ve said _yes_ -”

 “Dean, no one wanted you to say yes,” Cas cuts, laying a gentle finger on his lips. “We all convinced you to say no, this is not on you. This is not... anyone’s fault. It isn’t about blame. It’s just how it is.”

 “But it shouldn’t be like this.” Dean can’t help it, he _knows_ , he’s never been more certain of anything - it shouldn’t be like this. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. “If I’d just said that one freaking word-”

 Cas pushes himself up on his elbows, forcing Dean to look into his eyes.

 “You don’t know that, Dean. You don’t know that saying yes would have meant... winning. You don’t know that it would have changed anything.”

 “But this isn’t how it was supposed to go, Cas, I know it, this isn’t right. You, me, Sam, everyone - it’s not right, it’s not how it was supposed to be...”

 Cas sighs and snuggles back into Dean’s arms, face turned toward the ceiling.

 “I think - I have learned quite a lot about life in the last few months,” the angel says slowly. “Those people I… spend time with, they know a lot of things about the world. Things that even I, as an angel, did not know. All of them, Susan, Elijah, Jeremy…” Cas smiles affectionately. “They all have their view of the world, of the universe, of God… I think every human does. It’s quite incredible. All of you, every single one, with your own universe inside your mind… Humans are so-”

 “Cas, you’re getting away from your point,” Dean mumbles. Cas’ voice, his presence, is so relaxing, so peaceful, and he feels like he could just doze off… Last time, Dean repeats to himself. Last time.

 “I liked Elijah’s ideas the most, I think,” Cas continues, and Dean wonders if Elijah was the one who was fucking him that one time. “He was a scientist, before, and he was studying this idea that… that every decision, every possibility that the free will of living creatures offers - the same free will that you, Dean Winchester, gave me - he thinks that it all… it all happens, somewhere.”

 “What do you mean?” Dean asks, and he runs his fingers in Cas’ hair, feeling his friend’s deep voice roll and rumble against his chest.

 “I think it means that... there are an infinite number of parallel universes, realities, and they all _exist_ , simply they can never… they can never meet. They are as far as they are close. So close that sometimes it feels like you can taste it, that you can see it with your own eyes. How it would be if only you had said that word, or did this thing, or if you had made _that_ choice over this one.”

 Dean suddenly feels like he knows what Cas is talking about. Sometimes it feels like he can see through the ruins of his life how things could’ve turned out, if he had just done one small thing different. And it hurts, because it’s so close and yet it’s… it can never exist.

 “... you sense it because yes, it _is_ so close, Dean. It’s right here and it’s happening right now, it is, yet nothing is further from our reality. It’s in another universe, literally. But it _is_ real.”

 Dean clears his throat, trying to mask the emotions weighing down his chest. “So you’re saying that - that all of this...”

 “Was inevitable, yes. We’re in the reality where you said no to Michael, _one_ of the realities where you said no to Michael. And we are stuck here, that’s true. But that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a reality, a very _real_ reality, where none of this happened.”

 Dean feels tears filling up his eyes again, and all he can do his grip his arms tighter around Cas, like he’s the only thing keeping him from falling. It kind of is. But it doesn’t stop his voice from shaking.

 “So… So you think there’s - there’s a reality where Sammy didn’t say yes? Where no one died because of me, and my little brother’s safe?”

 “Yes.”

 Dean feels a tear leak out of his eye and roll down in Cas’ hair.

 “There is one where Lucifer was never let out of his cage, there is one where your mother never died, one where you never went to Hell, and you and I never met.”

 “There’s one where Sammy went to Stanford?” Dean continues in a hoarse voice. “Where he married Jessica and became an insufferable white collar dude that I can’t even stand, and that I see once a year when I go over at Christmas, and we end up yelling at each other because of all the freaking eggnog we drank?” Dean smiles through his tears. It’s so fucking sad that just thinking about it makes him _so_ happy.

 “Yes.” Cas presses himself even tighter against Dean, gently brushing his nose along his collarbone. “And there is one… where you got your head out of your ass much earlier, and we had sex long before this.”

 “That must be nice,” Dean murmurs, mouth twitching up as he feels Cas smiling against his neck. So nice. “I’m sorry we’re stuck here,” he lets out. “In this fucking crappy one.”

 “Someone had to be,” Cas quietly replies, and Dean doesn’t know what else to add.

 Somehow it helps to think about that theory, that idea. It helps to think that maybe this is just how it happened, that all the free will, all the decisions, they all - they matter of course, but…  in the end, whichever decisions Dean made, it doesn’t matter. Because what didn’t happen here happened somewhere else. Somewhere Dean made the right choices, somewhere things aren’t so wrong. Somewhere so close, yet so far. Suddenly Dean feels like he doesn’t have to dwell on the past anymore, to be caught up in the regrets, in the fear, in this oppressive feeling that it could all have been avoided _if only_.

 If Cas is right, then this reality was unavoidable. And whatever has to happens next - whatever decision Dean has to make - they’re all going to happen somewhere, sometime. And him, now, this reality - it’s just… It happens one way. And Dean knows it, the decisions are made, they were made a long time ago. This reality only ends one way, and he has to carry it there.

 “Cas, this is… this is not going to happen again. I can’t-”

 “I know. I know,” Cas replies, and gives Dean ones last kiss, one last bite. “It’s okay, Dean. Whatever you need, I’ll be there.”

 *

 And he is. And it doesn’t happen again - not the way it did that night anyway. When Cas wakes up the next morning Dean is already gone, gone patrolling and gone… gone away. He doesn’t ever come back, not really.

 Dean decides to leave the camp that very day and Cas follows, as they both knew he would. And during all the following months they spend chasing the Devil, Dean stays a cold, emotionless, dark and empty shell that Cas doesn’t recognize. But Cas follows him, does whatever he asks, throws himself into every mission, risking his life every day for him, because Dean is his life. He always was.

 And when Dean looks like he needs it, when he’s about to fucking lose it, breakdown one way or another, Cas drops to his knees and gives him all he has, gives him some pleasure and some release, gives him a minute away from all the mess. And Dean might not say it but Cas knows it helps, he knows Dean wouldn’t have made it this far without him by his side, whatever that means.

 Sometimes it means letting Dean crawl on his knees and suck him off in the middle of the night, let him give something back without asking why. Sometimes it means letting him push Cas in a dark alley and fuck him until neither of them can breathe. It’s never tender, it’s never loving, it’s rough, raw, almost violent, but in a way they both need it. And sometimes, on very rare occasions as they get closer and closer to the goal, to the end, Dean will seek out Cas and give him those eyes, those eyes begging him for what his tongue can’t speak. He doesn’t need to say it anyway, Cas knows what he wants. In those moments Cas follows Dean to the nearest hiding place, and without exchanging even a word Cas fucks him, unprepped, barely lubed, pants pulled down just enough to allow Cas to push himself inside of him.

 And Cas understands quickly that in those moments Dean wants more, he needs more, he needs Cas to hit him, scratch him, hurt him - he needs Cas to literally fuck him until he can’t even walk. It’s not about orgasms, it’s not about pleasure for Dean, it’s all about pain, and Cas thinks that if he wasn’t that stoned, that damaged already, he probably wouldn’t be able to do it. He almost prefers when Dean grabs him from behind and pushes him against a wall, not even asking before pulling down his pants and penetrating him, quick deep thrusts without any emotion, any feeling. Although sometimes Cas can swear he hears Dean choke up against his shoulder as he comes.

 The few moments when they get to actually sleep, a few stolen hours in the dead of night, there is no place for cuddling or sweet talk. Everything in their life is animalistic, instinctive, survival now.

 That is until the very last night, the night before they kill the Devil.

 That night it’s like Dean comes back, like he wakes up from a long, long nightmare just for a few hours before the sunrise. That night they make love, maybe for the very first time. And between their lips travel a thousand words unspoken, or maybe they are, maybe they finally say to each other all of the things they never said before. And after, laying directly on the ground under their small tent and waiting for the sun to rise and their life to end, Dean and Castiel are really together, the way they always should’ve been, the way they probably are in all those other universes. And for the first and last time Dean asks Cas to tell to him about the universe, about the galaxies and the planets so far away, about all the wonders Cas saw when he was still an angel, with wings and grace and faith.

 And on his last night on Earth, Dean Winchester falls asleep to the sound of Castiel’s voice, whispering all about the real names of the stars he’ll never get to see.

 


End file.
